Puddle Jumping
by AccioJosh
Summary: Harry is all grown up now, and the war is over. The memories are still there, but he's been offered a job in America to teach at a highly-rated wizarding school for a year. He takes it in the hopes of broadenig his horizons, but what he finds there may


**Story Rating:** PG-13  
**Chapter Rating: **G  
**Story Character(s):** Harry, Hermione, OC  
**Genre:** Future-fic, General, Action and Drama  
**Warnings:** Strong language, mild violence, Contains spoilers, Scenes of a mild sexual nature  
**Summary:** Harry is all grown up now, and the war is over. The memories are still there, but he's been offered a job in America to teach at a highly-rated wizarding school for a year. He takes it in the hopes of broadenig his horizons, but what he finds there may broaden them further than he thought.  
_This story is not yet completed._

_**Puddle Jumping  
**Chapter One_

As the plane jilted to the ground, Sarah Long couldn't help but be thankful. Though she worked for a software company as an advertising executive and spent most of her life on planes, she always worried about crashing from take-off to landing. The rush of air from her mouth as the wheels bounced the first time on solid tarmac always relieved her body tension so much it felt better than a visit to the chiropractor.  
  
As she stood up to stretch her legs, still trapped by all the tourists and other executives all waiting for the first rows to get their slow, jet- lagged asses in gear, she thought about her husband and son, both of whom she hadn't seen properly in nearly a month. Working like this hadn't been her dream, but sometimes one had to give up dreams to support a family.  
  
When Tom had been laid off two years ago, she had pleaded with her boss for a better paying position and this was all there was on offer. She found a talent in selling ideas, and helped the company grow from a small one- hundred person outfit to an international medical software leader. At last count, they had nearly twenty thousand hospitals in fifteen countries using their software for billing, patient records and tracking. It was in large part due to her, and the money was great, but she felt her heart tug at the loss of time with her family.  
  
When the aisle finally started to move, she grabbed up her laptop case and began to head for the terminal. It would be another twenty minutes before she had her luggage, and then fifteen to hail a cab and get back to the city to get on the 'T' and make her way to Brighton where Tom was going to meet her. So much time spent traveling; she only wished there was a faster way.  
  
When she was finally in the terminal, relieved to be in a room larger than a hallway, she started heading for the baggage claim, which was downstairs. Logan Airport was huge, newly redeveloped and nice, but somewhat confusing to get used to after the expansion. She did like how much more convenient it was, and whenever Tom dropped her off he never hesitated to comment on just how nice it was to be able to drive around now.  
  
She pulled out her cell phone and checked the signal before dialing, a habit she'd had since her first brick phone back in '95. She'd always hated all this tracking technology that allowed someone to be constantly found, no matter where they were. Her job required it, and at moments like this it was somewhat nice.  
  
As she put the phone to her ear and heard the first ring, she looked up just in time to see something that didn't make any sense; a man, along with a suitcase and a birdcage with an owl in it appeared out of thin air, a slight 'pop' the only indication of his arrival. At first, she figured she'd imagined it and quickly blinked, shaking her head slightly to clear it.  
  
People didn't just appear out of thin air.  
  
"Damn it," she heard him say, a grim expression crossing his face.  
  
"Hello?" Tom's voice was loud in her ear, but her sense of disorientation didn't allow her to acknowledge him. He'd hung up after a few more 'hellos' and she didn't even move the phone away from her ear.  
  
The man before her, a dark-haired young man in his early twenties with a slight frame and tan face was now looking around at everyone. He centered his gaze on her and her heart gave a quick jump, fear and the sudden need to have a gun overpowering her. Were she not frozen in fear, she might have run. He seemed to sense this and rolled his eyes as he moved over to her.  
  
"Hullo," he said, somewhat jovially. "My name's Harry. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." She gaped, her mouth moving without sound as he guided her toward a more sparsely populated area of the terminal, his baggage still sitting rather unceremoniously in the middle of the aisle. Insanely, she thought he might not want to leave it lying around lest security think it a bomb threat and confiscate it, but this was wiped clear of her mind when he pulled out a long, thin piece of dark wood and pointed it at her. "_Obliviate_," he said softly, and the world seemed to go out of focus.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, it's great to have you here!" The reception witch was young, maybe in her mid twenties, around Harry's age. She was quite pretty with light brown hair cut short and draped around her head in a very flattering way. Her eyes were light blue and shown with excitement, giving them a glossy look that flattered her smile. He returned the obvious flirtation and even gripped her hand firmly with the offered handshake.  
  
"Nice to meet you ... ?"  
  
"Oh! I'm Fiona," she said with a blush, obviously star-struck. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you," she gushed. "You look even better in person!"  
  
He smiled warmly and looked around the lobby, which was very modern for a school. Harry was used to older castles acting as schools, though he knew he'd only had experience with the one it just seemed somehow off that this one was so obviously built in the twentieth century. Muggle architecture was a hobby of his, and he guessed this school to have been dated back to the sixties.  
  
"Mr. Halliwell is expecting you, if you'd follow me," Fiona said, pulling him back to the present. He turned and smiled at her, indicating his suitcase and Hedwig. "Oh, don't worry, you can just leave those there for now." He nodded and came around the reception counter to follow her into the back where the headmaster apparently kept his office.  
  
"He's right in here," she indicated the room immediately to his right, which was empty. "Well, he will be," she said with another blush, noticing the room's lack of an occupant. "Have a seat; I'm sure he'll be right with you."  
  
"Sure," Harry said, flashing another smile and taking a seat in front of the desk. She disappeared presumably back to her desk, leaving Harry to study his surroundings. The office was small, about the size of the Dursleys' bedroom back on Privet Drive. He was surprised that the headmaster of a wizarding school would be treated so banally, but America was a different world and he didn't want to seem snobbish. He did see many of the photos on the wall were of the same person with many other apparently famous wizards or witches, and Harry now knew that Mr. Halliwell was a man who appeared in his forties with dark brown hair, cut stylishly, deep set brown eyes and a hard face that showed a man capable of both intense pleasure and friendliness as well as a firm disciplinarian. Harry knew he was going to be a good headmaster.  
  
"Harry!" Mr. Halliwell himself appeared in the doorway, clothed in a normal, modern muggle suit and a smile that reached his eyes, boasting genuine excitement. "It's so good to finally meet you!" He grabbed Harry's offered hand and yanked him up into a hug, which was a little different than Harry was used to, but not exactly unwelcome. The man had a very warm disposition even in writing, which was partly how he'd convinced the Boy Wonder to make his way to Boston.  
  
"Good to meet you as well, sir."  
  
"'Sir,'" he said with a note of disgust. "Newton! Call me Newton! You're going to be a teacher here, so you should consider me an equal!"  
  
"Yes – Newton," Harry tried, the name seeming odd on his tongue. Even back at Hogwarts he hadn't gotten used to calling Professor McGonagall 'Minerva', even though she admonished him every time.  
  
"Well, the school year is set to begin next week. I had hoped you might arrive a couple weeks ago, but I know you must have been quite busy settling up affairs." Harry instantly felt guilty, as if he were back in first year and had hexed Malfoy and been caught. "No worries," Newton said with a lighter tone. "We can get you up to speed and I'm sure you've had plenty of time to plan your curriculum," he prompted. Harry nodded ascent and Newton smiled a large, fatherly smile. "Excellent! Let me show you to your classroom."  
  
As they worked their way through the halls, Harry realized just how small this school was and wondered how it was all the students would be living here all year. He suddenly had a worry that he'd be forced to live in the houses with the students.  
  
"Have you arranged an apartment? Or will you be buying?"  
  
Harry gulped, suddenly at a loss. That was a major detail to overlook.  
  
"Er, actually," Harry said sheepishly, "I hadn't really gotten 'round to that yet."  
  
"Oh? Well my cousin has a place you might want to consider, as it's so last minute. Places around here go quickly when the colleges fill up. He's a muggle, but he knows all about me and wouldn't mind having a good wizard to watch over him. Just make sure you don't let him connive you into charming his plants to grow faster, because he's very tricky."  
  
"That sounds good."  
  
"I'll give you his number and you can call him from the hotel."  
  
Harry suddenly had a lot to do after he left the school. Just how had he missed that? He remembered only briefly reading over the acceptance letter, thinking how much work would be necessary to up and leave England for a whole year. The idea of teaching in the States was just too much of an opportunity to pass up. Then he'd gone off on a tangent, remembering how much he'd wanted to be an Auror, and how hard Minerva had fought to make sure his dream were possible. He'd even gave it a real go trying to get that Potions N.E.W.T. from Snape, but that was probably destined for failure all the way back when his father had gone to school.  
  
So he'd been side-tracked; that was how he'd missed the details.  
  
"So the... kids, they..."  
  
"Oh yes," Newton smirked. "They're all residence schools over there, aren't they? Well, we have a few of those here, but they're mostly private. All the public schools are commuter schools." He gave a warm glow and gestured to a door labeled 'Defense Against the Dark Arts', following Harry into the room.  
  
The room itself was only twice as big as Newton's office, which Harry was again shocked by. Everything at Hogwarts was so huge, grandiose really, in comparison to Salem Institute. Harry suddenly worried about how many students were going to fit in here comfortably.  
  
"How many students will I have in each class?"  
  
"Well, in the letter I included the daily schedule," Newton said with a hint of a question. Harry nodded to show he had indeed seen it, trying not to wince when Newton said 'skejdool' instead of 'shejdool'. "We have an eight period day, with seven forty-five minute classes and a two hour lunch class, with three half-hour lunches, divided up between the classes." Harry nodded, deciding it pointless to remind Newton that he'd just said he had seen the schedule. "With the classes divided so, you have about twenty students per period."  
  
"You don't have houses?"  
  
"Oh yes! I've heard of the houses!" Newton's face was bright, a bit of something new. It was almost like looking at a Ravenclaw, Harry mused. "You have four houses and your students are ... what's the word?" Harry told him. "Yes, sorted into them. How amazing! It does sound very romantic, doesn't it?" Harry nodded, having lived it the romance was long gone, but he remembered the original feeling. "Well here we are all just grouped randomly. Everyone is considered equal, though the young spellcasters are indeed given special classes if they prove to come behind the others."  
  
"Uhm, so someone who doesn't catch on as fast is given a slower-paced class?"  
  
"Right, exactly. You'll have a few of those classes to teach, though the numbers are less than a few years ago; I've made a lot of curriculum changes and it's improved the over-all effectiveness." He was proud, but not boasting; simply stating. It was admirable. "I will say, I attended a Japanese boarding school on the West Coast when I was a kid, and the schooling was far more disciplined than I found the Salem Institute. I've used some of the Japanese techniques to increase productivity and had very good results."  
  
Definitely a Ravenclaw, Harry decided.  
  
"Well, I'll leave you to it. Should you need any texts, or anything else, let Fiona or I know. Good luck!"  
  
With that Newton left Harry alone in what was going to be his classroom for the next year. Harry went and sat at his desk, which was just a modern wooden thing obviously designed for the sole purpose of being a desk, not to look amazing or have intricate carvings like he remembered of his desk back at Hogwarts. Things here felt a bit disheveled here, though he was under the impression that Salem was by far one of the better public wizarding schools. America was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

"Yes is this Michael Halliwell?"  
  
"Indeed. You must be Harry Potter, am I right?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Halliwell. Your cousin Newton said you had a room for let."  
  
"Well it's for rent, yeah." He had a strange accent, like most people from the Boston area, and Harry had a bit of trouble not thinking of just how Malfoy would take this place. "Seven-fifty a month, and I don't take wizard money. You gotta give me cold, hard, American cash."  
  
"That's no problem, sir. Our money is worth more than English money, and I believe that's more than—"  
  
"Don't get all high-and-mighty with me, weirdo. So long as you can pay the money, we're good. Utilities are included, though that don't mean you get a phone with it. You gotta pay for cable and phone separate, okay?" His tone was gruff now, someone who obviously thought Harry's British accent and his apparent knowledge of wizard currency exchange rates made Harry a snob. This was something that Harry had come to realize was common in the States.  
  
"Yes, sir," he replied as calmly as he could.  
  
"You got a computer?"  
  
"No, sir." Harry hadn't seen a computer since he'd lived at Privet Drive. He wouldn't know what to do with one.  
  
"Well, if you get one, we got wireless set up here so you can use that, but I gotta charge you a fee for the bandwidth. Come over on Saturday to check out the place and we'll sign a lease. Newt's got the address."  
  
"Right. Thanks again."  
  
The phones were mutually hung up leaving Harry wondering what the hell bandwidth was and assuming it was something to do with computers. A thought struck him suddenly and he pulled out the letter he'd gotten from Newton originally for consultation; oh yes, computers were on the list. Modern wizarding schools using computers? Harry wondered how that worked. Hermione would have a fit! She was always complaining about losing access to her computer when she came to Hogwarts.  
  
The rest of the evening was spent wandering muggle Boston. It wasn't that he was avoiding the wizarding part of town, but Harry had never been to the States and he wanted to see everything. Fanneuil Hall was by far the most interesting, with all the shops and Harry's favorite new food; pizza. He bought himself some gifts for his friends, thinking hard about how much he was going to miss them.  
  
When he returned to the hotel, he found that the window didn't open as he was on a floor somewhere far above the city streets. Hedwig looked at him imploringly, but there was nothing he could do.  
  
The following day, he made his way back to the school using the muggle subway, which Bostonians called 'the T'. It had a great big 'T' inside a circle for a logo and Harry had a sudden wonder why everyone felt the need to name their subways.  
  
Taking the T felt more like his childhood than he had thought it would. Even though it was a lifetime and several thousand miles away, he could remember taking the Underground to primary school because the Dursleys refused to drive him in with Dudley. He remembered having fantasies that one day he just wouldn't come home, and would instead go off to the coast and live in a cave on the beach. It had been something that would come back to him when Dudley and Piers and the gang were all beating him senseless on the schoolyard, as if Harry didn't know that Dudley cried for his mum in his sleep.  
  
Shaken from his reverie by the announcement of his stop, Harry jumped up and dove out of the already-closing doors, his sack nearly caught up by them. The station was a mess, though mostly because it appeared some homeless person had recently attempted to find salvation in the nearest trash bin. Harry stepped over some of the larger, squishier pieces and made his way up into the world.  
  
Muggles were so oblivious, and he couldn't remember ever being so. He almost longed for it some nights, when the nightmares were too much or he couldn't remember Dean's face. Watching the American equivalent of the Knight Bus go skittering about between stopped cars and nearly causing buildings to have heart attacks as lamp posts jumped into their sides to escape being knocked over, it occurred to him that he'd thought America would be different and was disappointed to realize that it really wasn't.  
  
Voldemort had never had as much power here as he'd had in Europe. Sure there were Death Eaters in the States, but their numbers were far less as most of the people here were either stuck in the seventies or still bitter about the Witch Hunts to attack muggles. Most people here knew his name only as they would a character in a story, someone famous because he had 'saved the world' in a book they'd read once. It was a different sort of fame, one that allowed him to walk the streets without children and parents alike chasing after him trying to get a glimpse of his famous scar. Instead, they would only recognize him by his name and then ask about the scar.  
  
Different, but viably so.  
  
When he reached the school, he was surprised to find it lodged in-between two large commercial buildings; one a bank whose original name could still be seen to darken the stone under its new one and a furniture store of some sort. The school had a large ground, including a Quidditch Pitch and a football field, American of course, and yet muggles walked past it without so much as a glance. Harry wondered how all this magic could allow the use of electricity. He'd have to ask.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," Fiona said with a slight tinge to her cheeks. He smiled and she batted her pretty eyes, the same light blue he remembered from the previous day. With a wink, he disappeared down the corridor to find his classroom.  
  
He wasn't used to the school yet, but in the complete and very well- prepared packet he'd been given by Newton, he found the map lead him directly to the classroom without even one wrong turn. The school was also about the size of Gryffindor tower, but laid out flat, so it was a lot harder to get lost when he was used to walking three times as far just to get to Potions.  
  
When he arrived, he unspelled the door and dropped his bag on the floor in front of his desk. The room was Spartan, obviously undressed by the previous professor and left blank of all personality. He was used to his room back at Hogwarts, a very well decorated bit filled with much of the charm he'd found under Lupin and Moody with a dash of Lockhart for the sake of the girls. Sighing, his hands rested on the desk, a pause before the gallant effort he was about to ensue, Harry calmed himself using one of the tricks Hermione had learned from a Yoga instructor. It was all about breathing, which, she said, was important to wizards as much as muggles.  
  
While in the middle of the exercise, he was shocked back to reality when the door was thrust open and a man and a woman entered, not looking around but immediately slamming the door closed again and starting to snog most desperately. Harry was surprised and felt a little intrusive, but they were in his classroom. It was an older man, around fifty Harry guessed, and a woman in her forties. They must be teachers, he guessed, before he coughed so they would both stop.  
  
"Holy fucking hell!" It was the woman, whose accent was not Bostonian, who turned a red face to him first. The man, who was straightening his tie, coughed and gave a half-hearted smile.  
  
"Um," he said, very much embarrassed. "You must be Potter."  
  
"Right you are," Harry said with only a small smirk.  
  
"I'm, uh, well, this is my wife, you see," he said in way of explanation. Apparently it was more important that Harry understand he wasn't cheating than it was to let him know what he was doing here.  
  
"Well, nice to meet you, man-who-was-snogging-you's wife. I'm Harry Potter."  
  
"Excuse my husband," she said, suddenly composed and almost icily sweet. "These northerners simply have no manners!" Her tone was so reminiscent of Malfoy that Harry felt a slight tinge of bile rise in his throat. "My name is Mrs. Molly Anderson-Whitley, of the Georgia Whitleys. I'm the Charms teacher."  
  
"And I'm," he coughed, giving a quick and uncertain look to his wife, "the Geometry teacher."  
  
"Geometry?"  
  
"Oh, well, you see we believe in a strict combination of muggle and wizard – "  
  
"Harold," she said, jabbing her elbow into his ribcage. He silenced immediately. "I'm sure Mr. Potter knows all about Newton's ideas on teaching." She gave a simpering smile to Harry and rolled her eyes as if this was all too taxing on her. "We'll just head on back to our rooms," she said with a polite bow, grabbing her husband and departing through the door.  
  
Harry sat in silence for a minute, taking in all that had just happened, and then stood up to begin decorating. It was very odd to have electric lights in a wizard school, strips of fluorescent lighting that gave off a very harsh, eye-irritating white glare to everything. Harry shut them off again as soon as they'd come on, a horrible recollection of primary school and being beaten by Dudley's gang in empty classrooms.  
  
Before he even opened his bag, Harry pulled out his wand and conjured a few sconces to adorn the walls, immediately lighting them up and casting a warm glow around the room. The desks were all made of some hard material that he vaguely remembered being very uncomfortable, attached chairs made with the same material. A number of quick transfigurations later and they were all wooden, looking well-used and comfortable. The benches were as dark and warm looking as the tables, leaving him feeling more at home already.  
  
When he did finally open his bag, he reached in with his wand and yanked it out quickly. Almost immediately, objects of all sorts began flying out of it and circling him in the air. With waves and points, they all began to find themselves in their new homes, leaving the room looking like he'd been there for years. The bookshelves were all empty, with the exception of a few tomes he'd brought along from Hogwarts, so Harry had to remind himself that Newton had mentioned giving him a list of the books that would be required for the students. Unlike in Britain, here the schools paid for the books and the students only borrowed them.  
  
With a contented sigh, he returned to the desk, which he'd gratefully transfigured into something more appropriate, and settled his eyes on the photo of he, Hermione and Ron all standing in front of Hogwarts and laughing. The three of them were so bright-eyed and happy that it took Harry a few minutes to remember that it had been before, when he was young enough that his adventures with defending the world were just games and he hadn't lost anyone he could remember.  
  
He put a finger to the picture and watched as Hermione and Ron both waved, Hermione giving a sentimental look and Ron just looking happy. He, in the photo, was just shaking his head as if he couldn't understand why he was being so grumpy when the whole world was perfect and he was a wizard. What he would give to have that outlook now.  
  
Shaking the gloomy thoughts out of his head, he flicked his wand to douse the torches and grabbed up his now mostly empty bag to make his way back to the hotel. It had taken him several hours to complete the decoration, but at least he felt comfortable here.

* * *

The week before term started was a bustling nightmare. Teachers whose names he was having trouble remembering were belting all sorts of facts at him that he was sure he'd never correctly keep track of. It had taken him half a day of this to figure out that a quick-quotes quill and spare bits of parchment did wonders.  
  
On Tuesday, someone named Jason Brady did a quick '_accio_' and Harry suddenly found himself with an electronic organizer.  
  
"It's spelled just like the rest of the electric equipment to work off of magic, so there's no need to charge it or anything. It links up with your laptop, see, with this," and he held up a strange plastic cord thing that Harry assumed would fit into the computer somewhere. "Just use Outlook to sync your address book and calendar and there's a special school program that handles the grading and test storage. It's linked with the central school computer through the network, so you just have to..."  
  
It went on for nearly ten minutes, leaving Harry glad the quill was taking perfect notes of the whole conversation. The last thing he heard, which he was definitely going to remember was, "And there's a listing of the staff by subject and tenure, and also a listing of the incoming students. They're also linked to the central computer, so you just have to check it to see any updates. It lets you know with a beep if there's a change you need to know of." A smile and a nod and he was gone.  
  
Harry looked down at the PDA with something of a scowl and felt suddenly thirty years older. Hogwarts didn't have PDAs, he thought petulantly. The screen glowed at him happily and he used a plastic pointing object to click on a small folder icon that said, "Staff Roster." It opened up to show him a listing of the departments: _Muggle_, with sub-departments of Math, Languages, History, Sciences, Social-Studies, Sports and Health; _Wizardry_, with sub-departments of Potions, Arithmancy, Charms, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Defense against the Dark Arts, History and a lot more of the same studies offered by Hogwarts.  
  
When he further clicked on Defense against the Dark Arts, he saw a picture of himself, a description of the class and pre-requisite reading. All of this was exactly the same information he'd provided to Newton, and he was surprised at how much information was published for all to see. This was definitely better than sorting through scrolls and owling professors.  
  
Just before he put the PDA into his pocket, it beeped at him and the screen said, "You have 1 new E-mail!" He clicked the little icon and it popped up a page that seemed like electronic owling, which was odd indeed, but much faster.  
  
_Harry,  
  
I just wanted to make sure you'd been able to log into your account. The PDAs are spelled to recognize their owners, so everything should go well. Just reply and let me know you've gotten this so I can rest easy.  
  
Newton_  
  
There was an option to reply that required Harry to tap at characters, which he assumed would take a lot longer than just using his quill to write out a bit of parchment and send it off with Hedwig. Rather than reply through the PDA, he just turned around and headed up to the office.  
  
Fiona just smiled and waved him in, a blush on her cheeks. Harry smirked to himself when he knew she couldn't see and entered Newton's office brandishing the PDA.  
  
"This," he said with a smile, "will be a blessing and a curse."  
  
"Sure will," Newton said in his fatherly tone. "If you link it up to your laptop, you'll find it much easier to reply." There was a wink, like someone indulging a particularly slow child, and Harry felt suddenly out of his element.  
  
"Did you get all the books you requested?"  
  
"Yes," Harry nodded.  
  
"Awful lot of books we'd never heard of here," Newton said with an unreadable look. "Last guy we had in had no idea how to run a class. He just read from the same textbook for all the students and barely even changed it for the different grades. Glad to have someone who knows what they're doing!"  
  
"I did want to ask," Harry said, hiding the smile from the compliment. "How is it that your wizarding children learn muggle studies? I didn't see it on the list."  
  
"Oh, well, here in America I don't think there's anyone who doesn't grow up with muggles. I mean, I always knew I was a wizard, but I went to a normal school during the day and came home to learn charms at night. We never had the complete separation you guys did over there," he said, waving his arm at what he must have believed was England. "We chose instead to hide ourselves out in the open so we could keep close tabs on them. You should sit in on Mark's History of Magic class; there's a lot of difference between us and England."  
  
Harry left the office feeling both complimented and dejected, a combination that he hadn't felt since he had studied Occlumency with Snape in sixth year. It was highly disruptive to his train of thought.  
  
_A/N: Next chapter, we start the school year... That is if anyone is interested in continuing with the story..._


End file.
